The Littlest One
by lyssanoelle
Summary: Meg has been at the Opera Populaire all her life.  She though she knew all the secrets that lay hidden in it, but how she was wrong.  Meg/Erik, rated T because I'm paranoid.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, so I know I said I was writing a Teddy/Victoire, and I was. . . but then I heard a rumor going around school that we were going to be doing Phantom next fall as our big musical, and I went and watched the movie, and read some fanfictions and was introduced to the wonderful world of Meg/Erik.**

**So here we go (: Oh, and sorry to say this, but for now, let's consider Mindy's Neverland on hiatus. I need to figure out where I'm going with it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom. If I did, Meg would have a bigger role throughout it.**

_Our Dearest O.G., _

_We in the young ballet chorus are quite disappointed in the absence of a prank in recent months. You haven't even made a letter with demands for YOUR opera come out. We anxiously await your next prank, and on account of all of us, do hope that in involves something to do with our dear prima donna in training, Mademoiselle Carlotta. We are sure that you agree when we say she sounds like a cow._

_We will be waiting during all rehearsals._

_Your Humblest Servants,_

_The Ballet Rats_

_(Written by M.G.)_

Marguerite Giry signed off the letter in her precise cursive handwriting, and then passed it around for the rest of the young girls to read. They shared glances of nervousness and fear, but excitement was hidden there as well. Marguerite herself, better known as Meg to all but her mother, sat proudly on her small bed. She was no more than eight years old herself, and easily the smallest of all the girls. Her mother, Antoinette Giry was the ballet mistress, and taught them all. If she were to walk in now and see them writing such a letter, they would all be in dire trouble. No person messed with the Opera Ghost in Madame Giry's sight.

The letter eventually made it's way back to the petite blonde, along with a look from one of the other girls, Genevieve.

"You shouldn't have signed your initials at the end Meg. . . " She said fearfully.

"And why ever not? Do you think that he shall find me? I'm sure he has much more important things in his brilliant head than me writing a note."

"Meg, are you sure that you will be able to deliver this without anyone finding out?" one of the other girls spoke out.

"Yes I am sure. You all seem to forget that I have been wandering this theater since I could walk. I know my way around." And with that, the young girl tucked the letter under her mattress, and began to finger-comb through her long blonde hair. "I shall deliver it tonight."

The girls all went back to their normal evening activities of brushing and braiding each other's hair, setting out their things for tomorrow's practices, praying, and then never ending gossip. Meg continued to finger comb her own hair, and then pulled it into a long blonde braid down her back, tying it off with a pale blue ribbon. She took her nightgown and was on her way to the bathroom to change, when her mother walked into the dormitory. Immediately all the girls stood and made a low curtsy, saying "Bonjour Madame Giry". Meg did this as well, as it was an accustomed sign of respect, but it was always rather strange for her to call her own mother 'Madame'.

The ballet mistress gave all the girls a small nod, and they went back to what they were doing. She walked to her daughter, and motioned for her to follow. Meg put her nightgown back onto the bed, and went with her mother out of the room.

"Maman. . . what is it? Is something wrong?" The young girl looked at her mother, worry written on her face.

"Non, ma petite fille." Madame Giry looked down to her daughter. "The bed on the right side of yours in not in occupancy, correct?"

"No mama." Meg shook her head, her braid switching it's resting spot as she did so. Antoinette led her daughter into her office. Meg looked inquisitively at her mother once more, before her eyes fell onto a girl who looked about her age, with a heaping mass of brown girls, and deep brown eyes. She seemed to be almost the opposite of Meg herself. She was sitting in one of the plush chairs opposite her mother's desk, and turned around when she heard the door open. Almost immediately this new girl scrambled out of the chair, and Meg saw that she was a few inches taller than herself.

"Marguerite, this is Christine Daae." Her mother started, motioning to the girl. "Her father has recently died, and she has come to stay here. She will begin rehearsing with the rest of you tomorrow. You girls will make her feel welcome, understood?" Something about her voice made Meg know that this was serious, and she gave a slight nod. Her mother than looked at Christine, "Marguerite will take you to the dormitories now. Just follow along with the rest of the girls, and you will be fine." Christine gave a small nod, and then looked at Meg.

Meg offered a small smile, and the motioned for the door. Before leaving, she gave her mother one last look. "Bonne nuit maman" she said, and then went into the hall with Christine. The brunette had two small bags with her, and Meg offered to carry one.

"My mother calls me Marguerite, but everyone else calls me Meg." She stated simply, trying to induce conversation. "Do you have a name that others call you?" Christine shook her head. "Oh. . ." Meg said, looking down before making another statement. "I'm eight. How old are you?" She looked to Christine again, she had to speak to answer this question.

"I'm seven." She said in a small, timid voice.

"Have you ever danced before?" A small shake of the head. "Oh. . . well, I'm sure you'll be fine. Have you had any musical instruction?" A nod. "Maybe you'll be a singer instead! That would be grand, don't you think?" A shrug. Meg gave up at this point. No matter what her mother said, it was hard to make a girl whom didn't speak feel welcome. Thankfully, they were close to the dormitories, and only had to endure a moment of silence before Meg opened the door.

At once, everyone was silent. It took a few moments, and then Genevieve spoke up. "What did your mother want Meg?"

Meg looked around, and then back to Christine. "This is Christine Daae." She announced plainly. "She will be staying here from now on." And with that, she led Christine to the back, where her bed was, and placed the bag she was carrying on the one to the right. "That's your bed." She said, looking at the younger girl. "If you would like to change for bed, there are private bathrooms back there." She pointed ahead of her. Christine gave a small nod, and began removing things from her bag, still silent. Meg gave a look of giving up, and then went to put her nightgown on.

When she returned to the room, everyone seemed to be settling down, and laying in their beds. She went back to her own bed, and took her doll, Felicity, in her arms. Her mother had given her Felicity for her eighth birthday; she was from America. Meg adored her doll, and the bright auburn hair on top of her head. Her face was porcelain and rosy, and she wore a light purple ballet dress. On her feet were a pair of purple toe shoes, and her hair was half pulled back with an ivory ribbon.

Meg lie down and waited for everyone's breathing to become deep. One by one, each of the girls fell asleep. She even fought with herself as sleep threatened to take over her body. But no. She would lie awake and wait.

And then the perfect time came. She slowly lowered her blankets and sheets, slipping her small feet into her ballet slippers. (Not her new toe shoes, for those were much more unpractical. Instead, she used her old, simple leather shoes.) She reached under her mattress and took the letter. Rising back up, Meg took the candle near her bedside, and carefully made her way out of the room, being extremely silent as she did so.

Once she reached the hallway, she was able to go onto demi-pointe and reach a torch to light her own candle, and return it to the holder. She kept it guarded with her opposite hand, and walked on silently through the opera house that she knew only too well.

She decided to take the long way, the one that would lead her onto the stage, and then wrap around to Box Five, where she knew the Opera Ghost would find his letter.

If only she knew that someone was already in the theater, perhaps she would have taken the other way. But she didn't know, so she continued on her way.

**A/N: Ahhh. I don't like the ending, but I was feeling that the chapter was getting too long. Anyway, review please?**

**Translations:**

**Non, ma petite fille : No, my little girl.**

**Bonne nuit maman : Good night mom.  
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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Yay for re-watching movies and then talking about them in math class with your partner, then writing a chapter for your fanfiction! (: Huge thanks to Ace of Gallifry and Heywhatup for their nice reviews (:**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. Obviously. **

Meg stepped onto the stage, placing her candle on the floor and looking out to the audience. She could only see the front row, but no one was there. She stood and listened for a moment, not hearing anything. She placed the letter next to her candle and looked out at the long expanse of stage in front of her. She was free here. No mother to criticize her, no mirror to show her the faults, no other dancers to ridicule her.

Except, she wasn't alone. Erik, better known as the Opera Ghost sat in the fifth row of seats, unbeknownst to the small girl. But he could see her. The light illuminated only a small portion of her, however. He could see no face.

He could see however, that she was one of the smaller girls, and based on her not wearing the satin pointe shoes that the older girls wore, he could assume that she was a younger child. He wondered why she had come in here, for all the young ballet girls were taught never to leave their beds at night (the reason quite humoring him really. It would seem as though the theater wanted them protected from him). He kept his eyes on the small girl however, as she began her best rendition of the ballet portion of the current production.

She was good; he had to admit, much more so than the beginning girls. Why she was not on pointe was a mystery to him, yet as he continued to watch her, a strange resemblance to an old friend grew. She looked like Antoinette Giry, the girl (now woman) who had brought him to the Opera Populaire all those years ago. This girl danced with the same raw emotion and exuberance as her, and Erik began to think things through.

Antoinette had been pregnant roughly eight years ago, he was almost sure of it, for it was a time when she was not at the theater, and when she returned, she became ballet mistress, and her young daughter waddled around. But this child could not be eight, for most of the eight year olds had already been introduced to pointe work, and this child was most certainly not on pointe. He studied her more closely; the similarity in her dancing was uncanny.

Meg glided across the stage, attempting to dance without the use of the shoes required. If she said so herself she was doing rather well. Her mother had always told all of her pupils that emotion was more important than getting the steps correct, even though correct movement was vital. Meg danced like her mother, so everyone said. Meg looked like her mother too, just a very small version.

Dancing was her passion. Sure, in the dormitories she seemed to be the joker and ringleader, and she had been told that she had a rather nice voice, but she lived and breathed dance. She longed for the day she would join the company, and perhaps even become Prima Ballerina. Oh, how she would love that! Meg thought over the movements of this dance in her head. The count was playing through her veins; and gradual excitement was building in her.

The very last step that she had seen in this particular ballet was a grand jeté, something that she had not yet come to master. It was most literally a leap and while in the air a split, and her legs would not corporate. Of course, her mother had always said if she stretched well enough if would come to her, but Meg figured she had at least another year before it became a problem.

But she was still going to try it. She came out of her foutette and made a few quick strides before attempting. She soared. . . and fell. She knew that her legs had not extended as they should, and she sat on the floor, disappointed in herself.

Erik watched from his seat in row five, and when the small girl leapt into the air, her face was shown in the light. The face that had saved him so many years ago, the face that brought him to music. Antoinette's face in such a small, small body. So, this was her daughter. The girl was good; he had to admit, if it had not been for her fall at the end. He stayed silent for a moment, studying the tiny child.

Finally he spoke, as if against his will. "Proper stretching and you would have landed that, Little Giry."

Meg practically jumped out of her skin. She immediately stood up, racing to the candle, and picked it up, as if it could show the face of the mysterious person in the audience. The note lay forgotten on the floor. "Qui est là?" she said, and quickly repeated herself, "Who is there?"

Erik remained silent. Damn you! He thought to himself, silently cursing for having brought the young girls attention to him. But she could not see him, and this he knew, for the expression she wore on her face was the kind of utter fear of not knowing. "Dancers belong in bed at night, do they not?" He finally asked.

"Where I belong and where I am going is none of your concern." The small child said, trying to sound non-afraid. "Who are you?"

"Who I am is none of your concern" Erik bounced back at her. The gor cowered back, and he watched her carefully. He couldn't tell her who he was. . . could he? No, only Antoinette must know who he really was. But, then again, this clearly was Antoinette's daughter. Could he trust her?

No. He could trust no one.

Meg was utterly confused. At first, she had suspected one of the creepy stagehands, but when the man had spoken, he sound much too rich, and not drunk like they usually were. His voice was deep and smooth, and she wondered if he was a leftover theater patron. But all of them left even before the operas were over, only a few remained for the entire performance, and she could be sure that none of them would sound like that. This voice sounded too. . . mysterious. "Please Monsieur," she was dying to know who it truly was, "if you will not tell me your name, at least show your face perhaps?" Even if it were a theater patron, she would not recognize him, and if it was indeed someone at the theater, chances are she would. Either way, she would get some sort of an answer.

Erik, being awfully rash, even for himself, did as the child asked. Why, he didn't have a clue, but he did anyway. Soon he was within the circle of life offered from her candle, and he was offered a short glimpse of the girl. She was blonde, unlike her mother, and was even smaller looking in this strange light. She stood like a true ballerina, even in this state, her feet in a perfect fifth position, one arm behind her back and the other holding the small candle. Her facial features were the same as Antoinette's, small and rounded. He was shocked, and mentally cursed himself for even stepping into the child's light.

Meg let out a small gasp when she saw the man. Or more, the mask of the man. Here she was, standing directly in the presence of the Opera Ghost himself, but this was no ghost. He was a man, a man with a white mask covering half his face. Meg was intrigued. Frightened, yes. But still very intrigued.

"Monsieur," she was finally able to sputter, "We. . . I. . . I have a note. For you." She walked back to the place where it lie, not taking her eyes off of him, and returned to the front of the stage, holding it out for him.

He took the note from the small girl's hand, slowly nodding, and she retreated back. "I. . . they'll. . . my mother will have a fit if she catches me out." She finally said, giving him one last look, and offering a small wave.

"Ghost doesn't really fit you I suppose. . ."

**A/N: Not sure how that went. . . but whatever. Leave reviews? OH! I even have some stuff to say. **

**So, I was on the Love Never Dies website (yeah, I know it got horrible reviews, but it hasn't even come to America yet! I still want to see it, just to see it) and there was like a preview of sorts for it. Andrew Lloyd Weber was describing it, and he was saying how Meg and Madame Giry take the Phantom away, but he said "Madame Giry and her daughter". He doesn't even say her name! Does this irk anyone else?**

**So, while re-watching the movie, I ran across my eternal debate. During the black and white scenes, is the woman Madame Giry or Meg? I know my first response was Madame Giry, just because it's the same actress, but she would have been quite old at that point, especially considering that Christine is dead, and Raoul seems close to it. So it would make more sense in the age department for it to be Meg, but they still call her 'Madame Giry'. Ahh! Leave your ideas with your reviews(:**

**Anyway, that's all I got (: My sister is requesting Mac n' Cheese, so I'll probably start on Chapter 3 later tonight or tomorrow.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Awh, I love all my reviewers (: Ask anyone at my school will tell you how ecstatic I was when I turned on my laptop and saw all my reviews (: Anyway, this is kinda a sad event for me, because I have to say goodbye to little Meg. ): I think I'm gonna work on a story after this with just little Meg, because she's so much fun to write!**

**Disclaimer: ****Je ne****possède pas****le****fantôme****de****l'****opéra**

Years had passed since Meg had last seen the Opera Ghost. But she didn't call him that anymore. Because he was no ghost. He was a man. A rather strange man, with whom Meg still wanted to understand more, but a man nonetheless. She called him the Phantom, for that's what he was to her. Somewhere in the middle of ghost and man was he. Neither one would he be. Meg hadn't seen him since that night nine years ago. She was now seventeen years old, a member of the ballet chorus, and could consider herself Christine Daae's best friend. Christine was now 16, and talked more, but still had her same shy quality. She was a member of the ballet as well, but Meg could see her as a singer. She really was quite magnificent; something she said was all due to a teacher of hers.

Meg was still the smallest girl in the company, though she was quite a few years older than the youngest. It was embarrassing, really.

She and Christine raced down the spiral staircase to a ballet rehearsal that they were already late to, chatting about the production of Hannibal, which premiered tonight, with La Carlotta herself singing the lead. It made Meg want to hurl, absolutely no one in the theater liked her voice, except Piangi, whom she didn't really like either. He was very short, shorter than she was, but extremely chubby, in fact, he was past chubby. He was simply fat.

The two stopped at the chalk box and quickly spun around on their toes in it, then raced to one of the barres near Madame Giry, Meg's mother. Meg offered a sheepish grin in sorrow, and fell in beat with the others, all stretching for their final rehearsal. Madame Giry gave the two girls a look of displeasure, and Meg knew that she would get a lecture soon enough for being late. Madame Giry was a very punctual person.

Meg continued on with her stretching, _first position, demi-plie, first position, demi-plie, first position, grande plie, first position-_she saw her mother leave to go observe the actors, to make sure they were getting their choreography right-_releve, down, releve, down_-Carlotta started yelling at one of her maids -_tandu to second, demi-plie, back, demi-plie, back, grande-plie_-Piangi began his solo, she really couldn't understand why people paid to listen to him-_tandu, demi-plie, back_. . . Only now she wasn't able to finish her stretching, because the manager, Monsieur Lefevre passed, with two men that Meg didn't recognize. She looked back to Christine, who only offered a shrug. They stopped their patterns and watched the three men pass, walking on stage. Monsieur Lefevre called them all to attention.

He apologized to Monsieur Reyer, the musical director for interrupting rehearsal quickly, and then looked to Meg's mother. Meg followed his glance, seeing her mother stretching with one foot on the barre, but she quickly averted her eyes back to the two strange men. One was an average height, with dark grey hair with a rather large poof coming out of it, and a matching mustache. The other one was smaller, with almost white curled hair, and a small mustache and goatee. Monsieur Lefevre cleared his throat with a sharp grunt. He finally spoke up when everyone was silent. "As you know, for some weeks there have been rumors of my imminent retirement. I can now tell you that these were all true and it is my pleasure to introduce you to the two gentlemen who now own the Opera Populaire, Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Gilles Andre." There was a small round of applause, and Lefevre mentioned something about junk that Meg could not hear clearly. Genevieve, who was now also part of the ballet turned to one of the other girls, "They must be rich!" she exclaimed.

The clapping died down, and the taller of the two men spoke up. "We are deeply honored to introduce our new patron, the Vicomte de Changy." There were more applause, and Meg tried to catch a glimpse of the other man. Christine, who could see over Meg, let out a small gasp. "It's Raoul," she exclaimed. Meg gave her look of questioning and the darker haired girl immediately went into explanation. "Before my father died. . . at the house by the sea. . . I guess you could say we were childhood sweethearts." Christine had a far off gaze in her eyes, and Meg looked back at the Vicomte, finally getting a glance of him. He was of proper stature for a man, not too tall, or not too short. He had caramel colored hair down to his shoulders, and his face was clean from any facial hair. "He used to call me Little Lottie." Christine added, and Meg looked back to her.

"Christine, he's so handsome." She said, but she only half meant her words. Sure, he was what every girl probably dreamed about marrying, but to her he seemed much too. . . too perfect. She wanted to marry someone with underlying mystery, if she ever did choose to marry at all. Of course, her mother would never hear this, saying that she wanted her daughter to marry well, and have children. She stopped mentioning plans for the future around her mother.

When she looked back to the bustling rehearsal, the stage was clearing, and Carlotta was saying something in that ridiculous accent of hers. The Vicomte passed by where the dancers were assembled, and Christine immediately looked defeated, then looked sadly back at Meg. "He wouldn't recognize me." She said softly, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself than her friend.

"He didn't see you." Meg reassured her, shaking her head a bit. She could hear her mother's voice motioning the new managers to get out of the way. The girls began their ballet, dressed as slaves of the time, only stopping their gossip when it was their cue to run on. Meg could faintly hear her mother and the managers talking, but that wasn't her focus now. Right now, she was a dancer, and one of the stars at that. She and Christine danced differently than the others, not chained to other people like the rest. The soared through the air as the chorus began singing again, and Madame Giry moved the men out of the way. Carlotta got angry about something, and Piangi failed at his attempt at getting on top of the large, wooden elephant. The finale of the number sounded, and the entire ballet chorus began their kick line of sorts, all raising their feet at the same time, then foutette turns, and finishing on the ground with one arm raised. The sigh of relief through the cast was not heard, but was known to all.

They all moved out of the way as the elephant went backstage, and Carlotta stormed to the managers. She mentioned something about dancing girls (it was awfully hard to understand her) and then went off on the managers, ending with something along the lines of "Get my doggy! Bring my doggy! Bye bye!" Meg and Christine where close to Madame Giry, letting out sighs of exasperation. It wouldn't really be an Opera Populaire production if Carlotta didn't storm out at some point, but she usually did it before the day of opening night. The new managers chased after her, trying to convince her to stay, offering a performance of the aria "Think of Me". Carlotta immediately turned this down though, retorting back that her costume was not finished. _Maybe if she hadn't eaten all that chocolate. . . _thought Meg. And of course, Carlotta hated her hat.

And then, she broke down, beginning to cry. Stress really got to a person Meg supposed, but still. This was getting ridiculous. Carlotta did however, pull herself back together, trying to make things right again. Monsieur Reyer went back down to the orchestra pit, and Carlotta hushed everyone. Meg tried to get as far away as possible, going with Christine to the wing. She began, and Meg could see some of the maids cleaning the seats in the audience stuffing cotton in their ears. She giggled a bit at this, and then looked to Christine, who was watching the managers. Meg looked back at them, only to see them flinching at the sound.

Suddenly, as if out of thin air, on of the backdrops from the set came reeling down. Meg let out a terrified scream, and tried to move out of the way, grasping Christine's arms in hers. Carlotta was pinned under the backdrop, and Meg looked at Christine, worry in her eyes.

"He's here. The Phantom of the Opera."

**A/N: Nice little stopping point there (: Anyway, this is the part of fanfics I hate, when you have to write things that happen throughout the course of the book/movie/play/whatever. I went back and re-watched this scene about 50 times, just to get all the lines and movement right. I'll be much happier when the next few chapters are done and I can write semi-freely (: Anyway, review please? Thanks loverlies (:**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Goodness it's been a long time. . . sorry about that, it's been quite a long few days. But basically, this might seem a bit rushed, just because I'm trying to get out of this phase ASAP. **

**Disclaimer: Alas, I still don't own Phantom of the Opera.**

Meg had suspected that Christine would take Carlotta's part when she stormed out. This suspicion went higher when her mother suggested Christine to the managers.

However, Meg never suspected that Christine would go missing shortly after her debut, or that the entire theater would go into a state of utter and complete disorganization. Meg feared for her friend, the girl that so willingly gave herself to anyone and everything. Especially after the conversation they had in the chapel after Christine's opening performance. The younger girl had claimed to be visited by an Angel of Music, whom she thought was her father. Meg suspected otherwise though.

Angel, he could be, but Meg never referred to him as such. To her, he was a Phantom. And she would bet anything that it was he who was visiting the gentle and naïve Christine, who would give herself to him without any question.

After they spoke that night, Meg went looking for Christine in her dressing room. It was dark, lit by only a small candle. The entire vicinity was covered in flowers from her varied admirers, and the smell of all of them was almost gagging Meg. The only thing seemingly missing from this scene was the star herself. Where could Christine be? Meg looked curiously around the room, and her eyes fell to the mirror in the corner. What should have been her entire figure instead was only the left half of her body. She stepped slowly closer to it, and to her astonishment, saw that indeed, part of the mirror was missing. It was almost like a sliding door, and when Meg pushed at it, it moved a little.

Inside what should be nothingness, was a long and dark corridor. She wanted to go down, for this was clearly the way to her missing friend, and perhaps also the Phantom that had sparked so much curiosity in the ballet dorms. Meg took one glance behind her, and stepped carefully into the dark hallway. She looked behind her, half expecting to see a wall of some sort, but instead, saw the entire dressing room in front of her, as if looking through a window.

She couldn't help but think how creepy this was. This meant. . . the Phantom could see Christine at any given moment. Meg shivered a bit and turned around, beginning to walk down the long hallway. She could feel every pebble beneath her satin and leather shoes, and it was becoming rather uncomfortable. She heard a faint skittering beneath her, and she looked down only to see a rat running in front of her feet. She let out a small yelp, but continued on.

She was not yet halfway in, her stomach full of anxiety, when a firm hand landed on her shoulder. She jumped out of her skin, whipping her head around. It was her mother.

Meg received quite a long lecture that night.

But she was still determined to get wherever that tunnel led. She just needed a moment when the room would be empty, and between Christine, Carlotta, and the Vicomte, that didn't seem likely.

Christine returned shortly, refusing to speak to anyone, and more notes flooded in from the Phantom. Requesting that Christine was the lead in the upcoming _Il Muto_, reminding the ever-dull managers that salary was due, and telling the Vicomte to give up on Christine (on which, Meg laughed a little to herself). And of course, the managers did not cast Christine as Countess.

Rehearsals were terrible for Meg. The dancing was boring if she had to admit, she had to listen to Carlotta, and whenever she and Christine came off stage and had any time to speak to one another, the Vicomte appeared, whisking her away.

Her opportunity to get into the dressing room alone though, finally presented itself fairly late into rehearsals. She was sent off the stage while Christine and Carlotta were still on, working through one of their scenes. Meg slipped away unseen, unnoticed, and made her way to the room. She turned the corner of the hallway, only to see the Vicomte standing guard by the door. She believed his name was Raoul, but she would never address him as such.

She reached him, and curtsied low. "Monsieur Changy," she said, and raised herself back up. "If you excuse me, I need to get into the dressing room."

"I am deeply sorry Mademoiselle, but no one is going in, until we get this Ghost situation under control." He sounded noble, thought Meg, as if he was performing some great service to the theater. She could see that this wouldn't be easy.

"Monsieur. . . Carlotta is requesting something from in there. I need to get in, s'il vous plait." She said, making some excuse.

It didn't work. "Mademoiselle, we cannot risk another missing case. Carlotta can wait."

"Do you mean to tell me that this the only way the Phantom is through this door? I'm sorry Monsieur, but that is purely idiotic. He has many ways, and for anyone to say they know all of them would be a lie. Now, I must ask you to let me pass."

The man seemed to finally understand her, and finally moved over. She gave him a single nod. "Merci monsieur. Oh, and Christine should be off the stage soon." This would give her the chance to remain missing without anyone knowing, and the man hurried off. Meg gave a curt nod, and then stepped inside. She waited until the Vicomte left, and closed the door, facing the mirror. It was closed; her entire reflection was looking back at her. She stepped slowly towards the mirror, and when she reached it, she slowly pushed it, and after a little resistance, it moved, revealing the passageway. She glanced around the room, seeing a small candle, and took it in her petite hands, looking for a match. When she finally found one, she lit the candle and returned to the mirror-hallway. This was her chance.

She took on step, then another, and she was inside. She could feel the hairs on her arms rising as she looked back into the dressing room, before setting her candle on the concrete floor and gently pushing the mirror back into place. She was really doing this. She was going to find the Phantom of the Opera.

She continued walking down the long expanse, noticing what seemed to be human arms holding candelabras. She wondered vaguely to herself if they actually worked. At the end of the hallway was a rather large set of spiral staircases, and Meg thought of stories she had heard, of traps hidden everywhere. But then again, those came from Joseph Bouquet, and really, how much could one trust him? She continued on, now only being more aware.

Nothing ended up happening, and soon she came to a flat plane of land, close to which a horse was tied up. She looked at it curiously, for what was it's purpose? Walking on a bit more, she found her answer, for there was a somewhat steep downhill portion, with rivets that looked to be just for a horse's hooves. She walked down anyway, and began to think if this was the same way Christine had taken. Oh, Christine. If only she had spoken Meg wouldn't be so timid now. Or perhaps she would be, for who knew what lie ahead waiting for her?

A small river greeted the end of the hill. There was no boat, however, and Meg wondered how people might get across. She sat down, and slowly untied her shoes, not daring to get them wet, and slid her stockings off as well. She quietly blew out the candle, and left it where she was sitting, for now the path was lit for her. Perhaps the Phantom new she was coming.

She slowly put her foot in the water, fearing that it would go above her head. It did not, though, and was currently no more than a few inches above her ankle. She slowly walked on, and could feel the cool water rising higher on her body. Soon she had to pull up her ballet skirts to not get them wet. She had them wrapped at the waist, holding them with her shoes and stockings.

Erik realized someone had intruded very quickly. For a time he suspected Christine, for the way the steps sounded on the floors it was clearly a woman, and one in the ballet for that matter. He couldn't believe that she would come to him though, especially after what had happened previously. It wasn't until the intruder had turned the corner to the gate leading into his sanctuary that he realized that this woman was indeed not Christine.

But of course, Meg did not see Erik, for Erik did not want Meg to see him. What she did see however, was a large gate, and behind it, a vast expanse of what looked like a very luxurious musician's room. A bed that looked like a swan lay in one corner, and various instruments were scattered around. If only this blasted gate wasn't in the way, thought Meg. She was so close, yet she was so far.

Erik did see the small blond girl though, and was instantly reminded of the small girl he had seen so many years on the stage late at night. This was the girl that wrote him demanding letters, and never failed to get them to Box Five. This was Antoinette's daughter.

"Little Giry. . . why have you come here?"

**(: Review please?**

**Confession: All during writing this, I was listening to Jar of Hearts, King of Anything, and Fairy Dance (from Peter Pan).**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Finally, the two meet in a fully adult world. (: Thanks to my reviewers again, you guys are wonderful.**

**Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera belongs to a bunch of people. Not me.**

Meg despised being called Little Giry. Yes, she was petite. Yes, everyone knew her mother. But really, it was getting unreasonable.

"I have a name Monsieur. And while I would like to tell it, I cannot see you, and I prefer to speak to things I can see." She tried to sound confident in her words, but standing on the other side of the gate was terrifying her. And if he did come out, what would be of her? Surely, she was not the same girl from nine years ago who could not land a grand jeté and wrote silly notes to ghosts. But, she supposed, he would be the same. His voice certainly had the same deepness to it. Surely, he would still be dark and mysterious

Erik could see a different sort of change in the small girl. She had grown, and judging on the fact that she was down here, in his sanctum, in more ways than height. No one had dared come to him before, no one had known the way in all actuality. But she did. . . This ballet rat, the best friend of the woman he loved, had come to find him. But she would not see him. He did not want to be seen. He wanted her to leave.

"I am well aware that you have a name, Marguerite, but like all those years ago, you seem to be in simply the wrong place, don't you? Dancers belong in rehearsals, do they not?"

Meg was reminded of their conversation all those years ago. Was this not the almost exact phrase he had used when she was young? She was growing quite impatient standing in the water with her skirts held up, and she would under no circumstances be going back without confronting him. "Once again, where I am is no concern to you. Now, if you please, open this gate, for I am getting quite uncomfortable standing here."

Erik wanted her to leave though. He didn't want her to come any closer to him or his living place. He wanted her to go back upstairs, to never come down again, and to go on living the life of a ballet member.

But Meg Giry wouldn't do that. She would stay until he let her in. She had a few things to say to the Phantom. And she would say them. "I hope you realize that I have no intention to leave until you let me in." She tried to sound confidant, to sound sure of herself.

Good God this girl was annoying, thought Eric. He could tell that she wasn't kidding though, and reluctantly came out, into her vision line. He walked slowly across his island-type set up, and then into the water, until on the gate separated them.

Meg took a sharp breath in when he faced her. She couldn't help it. He looked exactly the same, as if age had no effect on him. His hair was still the same shiny black that she had noticed all those years ago, and a white as snow mask still covered the right side of his face. He hadn't changed a bit in the past nine years, and this came as a slight shock to her.

Her heart raced, for here she was, face to face with the man that so many of her peers were frightened of, the man that somehow her own mother knew, and the man that kept her best friend frightened beyond her wildest imagination. She suddenly felt very small standing there, with a ballet practice dress on and tulle wrapped around her. Her long blonde hair was beginning to fall out of the ribbon that held it up, and her face was probably red and blotchy.

Erik expected some sort of reaction from her, just as everyone seemed to react to him. Only hers was different. She did not scream, or cower back, but instead only gasped. Why did she only gasp, when everyone else screamed or cowered in fear? Why was this girl different?

Erik studied her. Little Marguerite Giry seemed to be the exact opposite of Christine. Where Christine's beauty was obvious and shown through all around, this girl's was hidden, surely it was there, but not obvious, nor apparent. She was hidden in the shadows of others for so long, and there seemed to be features of her screaming to get a chance in the spotlight.

He finally spoke. "Have you no respect for the Phantom of the Opera?" He growled to her, trying to get her to leave, once and forever more.

"And who do you think gave you that name?" She tried sounding confident, once again. "My mother? A manager, a maid? Joseph Buquet?" A slight pause, "Christine?"

He did not answer.

"No, monsieur. I, Little Giry, the tiniest in the company began to call you that. After I saw you, for the first time. You were no longer a ghost in my eyes. . . you were part of our world, and yet you were not. You were a phantom."

* * *

><p>"Madame Giry, where is Meg?" asked a rather frantic costume crew-worker, who needed, yet again, to hem and take in a costume for the blonde ballerina. Every single costume the girl had ever worn had to be taken in and shortened, simply because she was so tiny. Usually the costume girls could find Meg easily, and she was completely willing to come with them, but not today. Already the woman had looked all over for the girl, in the ballet dormitories, all backstage, and throughout most of the theater. The last resort had been the ballet mistress, who always seemed to know where to find her daughter.<p>

"No, I saw her last when she left rehearsal. Did you check in the dormitories?" Madame Giry had been too preoccupied with La Carlotta arguing about some choreography issue. The diva was really getting on her last nerves.

"I already checked Madame."

That was strange. Meg was almost always in the dormitories, talking with – it clicked. She was almost always in the dormitories talking with Christine, who had been on stage the whole time. "I would check and see if Christine knows where she is." Surely her daughter had not ventured back. . .? No. Meg would not after her mother had stopped her. Yes, she had requested a reason, but could Antoinette really bring that on her only child, on herself? It was so long ago, and most times, the elder woman liked to forget that it was she that brought him here.

The costume girl nodded and retreated back, now looking for the brunette girl that had raised so much talk over the past few weeks. She was easy to find, backstage with the Vicomte close at hand.

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle, but you have not seen Meg since she left stage, have you?" She asked, and the brunette shook her head, her hair falling on either shoulder.

"I have not, I am sorry. She mentioned something about going back to the dormitories."

But the Vicomte soon interjected. "She was requesting to get into the main dressing room. She claimed that Carlotta needed something from it. I haven't seen her since."

The young girls eyes went wide with fear.

"Oh, Meg. . ."

* * *

><p>"Oh, Christine. . ." Meg whispered, looking around the lair. The Phantom had finally let her in (much to his unwillingness), and she was now getting a proper look. Her tulle skirts were back at her knees, and she still held her ballet shoes and stockings in her hands.<p>

All around the walls were sketches of her friend. A rather large bed, that looked like a swan sat in a corner. The sawn almost seemed to protect whoever slept in it with its wings. A piano was close by, and a hundred other items that Meg recognized as props that went missing soon after their required show. A table lay off center, with a complete diorama of the stage, with little figurines of every cast member involved. Upon closer looking, she noticed that all the figurines clearly mirrored their models. Christine and Carlotta's, however, were most clearly switched at the head, with Christine's face on top of the Countess's costume, and Carlotta's on top of the Page Boy's. Meg looked behind the Countess, to see a colorfully costumed maid, with blonde hair and rather rosy cheeks. She picked it up gingerly, turning around and looking at the man in the mask. "Is this. . . me?"

Why did he let this stupid girl down here? Erik was furious with himself, and that anger only grew as the rat began looking through all his belongings. She most certainly was her mother's daughter, anyone could tell that by just looking at the two, but where her mother was gentle and reserved, young Marguerite was outgoing and rash.

She continued to pry through his belongings, still holding the figurine, until she found a worn out copy of a book sitting somewhere, most likely on top of an instrument. "Shakespeare?" She asked, and Erik gave her a single nod. How the girl would know anything of the author, he did not know, but he let her continue. The less interaction, the better.

The play in her hands was Much Ado About Nothing, a play that Meg herself had actually seen year's prior. Her mother didn't like the ballet around Christmastime that particular year (or at least, she said that, while Meg suspected it was the star of the ballet with whom her mother was displeased), and instead, the two went to a Shakespearean play. Meg was astounded at the way the words were able to move off the actor's lips, and surprised at how intrigued she was, despite the obvious lack of song or dance.

She opened the book, and flipped pages until she found what she was looking for. Words that had stuck with her through all the years, even to this day.

She spoke softly, but loud enough for Erik to hear her.

"What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true?  
>Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much?<br>Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu! No glory lives behind the back of such.  
>And, Benedick, love on; I will requite thee,<br>Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand:  
>If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee<br>To bind our loves up in a holy band;  
>For others say thou dost deserve, and I<br>Believe it better than reportingly."

Erik was somewhat shocked. The girl was actually decent. . .

A/N: Happy Easter if you celebrate it! Please leave reviews. . . (: Shout out to Gabbi. . . you should be reading this. . . (:


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: One of my friends edits pictures when she has nothing better to do. Another reads. Me? I write and read fanfiction. That is, after I finish all the homework I left for last minute.**

**Disclaimer: If, by this point, you haven't figured out that I don't own this, you're thickheaded. **

Erik was stunned at how the chorus girl read the monologue. Almost none of the company could actually read, much less recite something by Shakespeare. How was it possible for a ballet rat, who had been at the Opera Populaire her entire life, to possibly learn Shakespeare? He would have asked her, if it had not been for his desire to get her out of his living quarters. Questions could be asked later. Preferably on paper, and not face to face.

"Marguerite. . ." he hissed, angry at the girl for not leaving, for coming, for intruding "Leave. Now."

"No monsieur." And she tried ignored him. She placed the book back in its place and continued looking around the vicinity. It seemed as if around every turn there was something more strange and peculiar than before. Various instruments were strewn across the floor, and random pieces of sheet music surfaced throughout the organized mess.

She took a breath and instantly felt coarseness around her neck. Her breath was caught away and she was whipped around, becoming face to face with the man under the mask. And she saw rope in his hands. She now realized her mother's warnings to everyone. Keep your hand the level of your eyes, and he couldn't kill you. Joseph Buquet actually knew what he was talking about for once. . .

But Meg wasn't going to die at the hands of him. She looked up at him, into his eyes. They were dark and seemed endless. Her breaths were shallow now, and it took all her strength to argue with him.

"Do you really want to kill me, monsieur? What would be the gain for you?" She tried to sound unafraid. He could kill her down here and it could take quite a while for people to figure it out, she knew.

"You would be out of my hair."

"And the consequences?"

"I see none."

"Really, monsieur? You would be wanted then as a murderer."

"And how would they find me?"

"My mother would be angry with you. My mother angry is not a good sight monsieur. And the managers. . . having to recast me only a week beforehand. The costume mistresses. . . they just began to alter the costumes for me. Really, I think the majority of the theater would be quite unhappy with you."

"And do you think I care what the theater thinks of me? I thought I would have made that quite apparent." He tightened the rope.

Meg had one last chance; her next argument came out in rather gasped breaths. "And what of Christine? She would loathe you, possibly forever. Her best friend, to die at the hands of you. She would never forgive you." Meg looked at the Phantom once more. Her words seemed to actually get through to him, and his grip loosened. She took this time to get as much air in as possible, in the most discreet way she could muster.

As much as Erik hated to admit it, the stupid girl was right. While killing her did seem at first to be the best option, she brought up various points. Surely, people would know and begin to search for him, which in the long run, would bring even more people down to his living quarters. Christine would be upset. . . but he could make her feel better, he was her Angel of Music for crying out loud! But then, there was Antoinette. He remembered a promise he had made to her, years and years ago. When this little brat had been born, he promised to let her be, but if anything horrible happened, he would keep her safe. Just like Antoinette made him safe.

He supposed killing the girl would go against that.

He finally let go of her, letting her break free from the lasso. She fell to her knees, breathing heavily, and finally looked back up at him. Her eyes were confused, and hurt. Already, he could see red burn marks on her neck from where the rope had pressed against her skin. He felt a sense of regret, but quickly pushed it out of his mind. Now, she would leave.

She stood up, taking in her hands her previously discarded ballet shoes and stockings, never taking her eyes off of him, and walked slowly towards him. Was she this stupid? he thought. Surely she was not going to confront him again. But no, instead she took one of his hands, never saying a word, and placed something in it. Her hand brushed against his, and she looked at him again, one last glance, before picking up her skirts and entering the water once again. He waited until she was around the corner before looking at what she had given him. In his hand was none other than the small figurine that she had taken earlier, in a colorful maid's costume, with light blond hair and rosy cheeks.

The walk up was much more solemn for Meg than the way down. She wondered quietly to herself why he had let her go. He very well could have killed her and escaped from those searching for him. But no. He let her go.

Soon she was back to the mirror entrance, and she checked quickly before stepping out; no one was in the room. She stepped away from the cold hallway, and into the warmth of the dressing room. Quickly, she pulled her stockings back on and tied the ballet shoes back. No one would know where she had gone.

Studying herself in the mirror, she saw subtle red marks on her neck. Surely, ever knowing eyes would catch those. She frantically searched around the room until she found the powder, and lightly put it on until she looked perfectly natural again. She couldn't tell the difference, and hoped that no one else would be able to either.

Quietly Meg walked out of the room and closed the door. The hallway was empty, and she had no idea where everyone was. She quickly decided to go back to the rehearsal space, and hoped greatly that no one would have missed her. She doubted they would. Walking through the hallways though, she was stopped by a costume mistress.

"Oh, thank goodness Meg!" the woman let out a sigh of relief, "we've been looking everywhere for you."

So they had missed her. . .

"We need to finish altering your costumes. Oh, Miss Daae and Madame Giry will be so happy that I found you!" She took Meg's hand and started leading her to the costume shop.

Her mother was looking for her. . . this could turn out horribly, she thought, and when she walked into the room, she was pleased to see only Christine and the Vicomte. What was he doing here anyway? She didn't have time to ask though, for Christine practically leaped onto her by hugging her. Meg hugged her back, but felt slightly awkward. Christine pulled away, and looked at her. She whispered lowly "Meg, how could you go down there?"

"I don't know what you're talking about Christine. I've been the dormitories since they dismissed me." She lied, speaking softly.

The two weren't given any more time to discuss where Meg had been, for the costume mistress spoke up. "Monsieur," she started, addressing the Vicomte, "Would you please go and get Madame Giry? Tell her we've found Meg."

He seemed to want to put up an argument, until Christine looked at him and nodded a bit. "I'll be fine." She said.

He left, and Meg and Christine were left on their own. Rather than argue with her though, she turned to the older woman. "Let's get this costume fit, shall we?" She didn't want her mother to walk in and see the state of her dress.

They slipped the dress over her head, and immediately began to pin around her waist and chest areas. They had her stand en point to do the length, and it was then that her mother stepped in, unaccompanied by the Vicomte. Meg was glad for this, but the stern look on her mother's face quickly brought her spirits down.

"Where were you Marguerite?" She asked, and Meg could tell it was serious by the tone of her voice.

"In the dormitories, Maman. I suppose no one could find me." She really did hate lying to all of these people, but it almost seemed necessary, for she would face even greater consequences if they actually knew that she had snuck down to the Phantom's lair and almost died in the process.

The night of _il Muto _came, and everything went as planned.

At least for the first ten minutes.

The opera had hardly even begun when a deep and intimidating voice boomed over the crowd. "Did I not instruct that Box 5 was to be kept empty?"

A collective gasp ran through the theater, and Meg looked up, seeing a figure in all black. She knew who it was, and said to no one in particular "He's here, the Phantom of the Opera." She could almost feel the rope on her neck again.

"It's him." Christine said softly, and Meg looked at her. Carlotta immediately retorted back to Christine, reminding her "Your part is silent, little toad." Good God she wanted Carlotta gone. . .

Carlotta quickly got back into character though, and went to the side of the stage to get a quick spritz of her throat spray. Meg looked at Christine, who looked to Box 5, where none other than the Vicomte sat. These people never learned. . .

Carlotta came back on stage and gave the maestro instructions, and started back into her singing. Meg did as the part called of her, trying to ignore the sense of fear building up in her. Carlotta was singing, "You cannot-a speak, but kiss me in my OAGH." Meg looked over, confused. She sounded almost like a frog, and it didn't stop. She could barely finish her phrase, until everything that came out of her mouth was a croak. The audience lost themselves in laughter, and she was quickly taken off the stage.

The managers quickly came on as the curtain closed, informing the audience that the show would go on, with Christine in the lead. The younger girl looked frightened, but was soon taken away by Madame. Monsieur Andre nervously announced that to fill the time, the ballet from Act Three would go on.

The entire backstage area went into frenzy, and Meg quickly took of her maid's costume, changing the outer shell to that of the ballet dress, and tied her shoes as quickly as possible before running on stage with the rest of the girls and beginning the routine. The sheep, however, had other ideas and were not cooperating, and Meg did her best to dance only her part. Some of the girls hadn't even put on their full costumes. It was madness, but all they could do was dance and hope that the audience would stay.

She finished her bit and went to the wings, waiting for her second appearance. No sooner had things started to get better than Joseph Buquet tumbled down, suspended by a noose. Meg let out a terrified scream, and once more, the curtains hurriedly closed.

Meg ran to the wings this time, ripping the cape from her hair, and quickly sliding out of her shoes and stockings. She kept her costume on and ran backstage. Christine was trying to make it through with the Vicomte, who was right by her side. Meg had other things to get to though. She ran past everyone, and landed right in front of the door. The door that had almost led her to her death only mere weeks ago. She pressed her ear on it quickly, and hearing nothing burst in. She raced to the mirror and pulled it away, stepping in and feeling the cold floor on her bare feet. She took just enough time to close the mirror, and then began racing down again. She had a few things to say to the Phantom, and this time he would listen. He was just making matters worse for himself.

She was surprised to see the gate open, but even more surprised once she climbed onto the island of sorts.

The Phantom of the Opera was missing.

**A/N: I feel like that was rushed. . . sorry. . . Shout out to Gabbi, my 'Angel of Fanfiction' as she likes to call herself (:**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hello loverlies (: Uh, just to clarify, I got a lot of reviews last chapter that were like "Where's the Phantom?" Guys, where do Christine and Raoul go after il Muto? Who follows them and sings the last part of their romance song? I rest my case.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it. **

Erik couldn't help following them to the rooftop.He wasn't much angry with Christine at this point, for who could be angry with the girl? He was angry, however, of the man with her. The Vicomte de Changy was truly annoying to the depths of hell; the way he went crazy over Christine, the way he never failed to be in Erik's box, and the general feeling that he put out. And now, here he was, claiming that he would protect her. Erik couldn't stand it. This man. . . was infuriating.

And even so, Christine, his Christine, was proclaiming her love for this man. How could she? She loved him, not this insufferable excuse of a person. How dare he – they kissed. They kissed. The Vicomte picked her up and spun her, and Christine kissed him back. His Christine, was kissing this man. . . who most clearly was not him. The couple went inside, and Erik emerged from the shadows. Laying forgotten on the ground, a single red rose with a black satin ribbon tied around stem. His gift to Christine – gone from her memory.

Meg looked around the place quietly, slowly taking her hair down as she went. The Phantom's absence was strange, and she vaguely wondered where he had wandered off. Surely he hadn't gotten out of the theater, people would have seen him. His home was filled with what people would classify as junk. She could hardly take a step without fear of stepping on something. A whole basket of masks sat in one corner, he did certainly have quite the collection. Meg wondered what he could be hiding. She knew that very few people knew what lay behind, and her mother was one of them. But she would never ask her mother, and her mother would never tell her. She wondered if Christine knew. . .

Separate from the main area were three bookshelves, absolutely crammed with books and stray papers. She recognized few titles, but pulled one from the shelf anyway, riffling through it. A thin piece of paper fluttered to the ground, landing in the middle of Meg's second position feet. She looked down at it, and picked it up gingerly, placing the book back onto the shelf.

The piece of paper was yellowing and water stained. Still, there was light pencil writing, in a tiny cursive. _Our Dearest O.G._, Meg began to read, but quickly stopped. She knew these words, and quickly scanning the rest of the page, her heart raced. She had written this so many years ago. . . when she first met the man. This letter had been what brought her to him the first time. . . written then night Christine came. Oh, how things had changed over time. Were all of the other letters here as well?

She riffled through the rest of the bookshelf, finding even more of the letters from her past. He really had kept every single one of them. All of her childish requests were still present, and she couldn't help but smile at a few of them. She replaced them all in the spaces in which they were crammed, and continued looking around. She reminded herself why she was here – to set the Phantom's head back on straight. Keep him in line. Remind him that murdering fixes nothing.

Erik stormed back into his home, frustrated, hurt, confused, and in agony. He arrived furiously at his organ, plopping himself on the bench, not seeing the small dancer in his midst. "Damn you!" He cried out, speaking to no one, his hands balled into fists.

Meg peered around the corner of the shelf, trying not to be seen. He had returned, how she didn't know, she would have heard the water splashing if it had been that way. But of course, there was more than one route to enter this place. She tried to stay out of his line of sight until her full plan was complete in her mind. Would she simply burst out at him, in a screaming fury? Or would she gently come to him, and then argue that he wasn't helping his cause? She hadn't exactly decided when she did come out, but she was confidant in herself, she hoped.

"Monsieur. . . about tonight. . ."

Erik looked up from his misery, and was instantly upset with what he saw. The idiotic and far to bold ballet rat was down here, again. What her purpose was, he did not know nor care, but couldn't a girl leave someone to just sit and suffer? Why did she come down here again? Was their last encounter already wiped from her memory?

"God damn Little Giry. . . do you not learn?"

"My name is Marguerite," the rat replied fiercely. "And you have no right at the present moment to argue." Who was the girl to tell him what he did and did not have the right to do? She most clearly did not think much of her life, or she would not be here again.

"Killing Joseph Buquet has done and will do nothing to help your cause. If anything, it was purely idiotic of you. Now, the entire theater will be even more terrified or angry with you than they had been before. Our sales will go down, for word spreads quickly around this city, and once people learn of a hanging man during a ballet, they will refuse to come. . ."

"Shut up!" He yelled. This girl was infuriating.

"I'm not finished yet!" She yelled right back at him. "Christine is now terrified of you to the upmost degree. Did you want that?"

"How dare you speak of –"

But she interrupted him, her cheeks growing more scarlet by the minute, and she advanced to him, growing nearer with every word. "If anything, you have pushed her right into the Vicomte's arms. She will fear you for the rest of her life."

Meg paused, waiting for a response. He must have something to retort back with.

"You stupid, stupid little rat." The Phantom's voice grew louder and more viscous with every word he spoke, and soon, he was standing and advancing towards her. "How dare you come here, how dare you chide me, how dare YOU tell me of Christine." They were now face to face. The girl did not cower, as he expected her to. His voice was now low, and sneering. "You will never have the smarts of your mother. You will always be nothing but a ballet rat."

Meg looked at his haunting eyes, and in one swift movement brought her hand up, bringing it in contact with the left side of his face. She was shocked with herself, she had just smacked the Phantom of the Opera. . . Her cheeks grew to a bright crimson, and her handprint was growing red on his face.

Erik was taken by surprise at how the girl acted. Never had anyone defied him like this. Well, apart from Christine, when she ripped his mask off. . . But Christine was different. Christine was his angel, and Marguerite. . . was nothing but a rat. A good for nothing ballet rat. God, why was she here? Why did she always interfere?

"Marguerite, you stupid, foolish girl." He snarled at her, and she somewhat jumped back. It served the girl right.

Meg tried not to be afraid of him, she truly did, but for one of the first times in her life, she cursed her rashness. Now she had an angry and what seemed like depressed Phantom on her hands. . . But how dare he call her stupid? How dare he call her foolish? Her act may be foolish, but foolish she was not.

"Monsieur. . . I. . . I'm sorry. . . but really. . . you shouldn't have killed him. . ."

"My matters are of no concern to you." He said icily.

Meg decided that now would be a good time to leave. She slowly walked away, picking up her skirts and wading through the water. Maybe he was right. . . maybe she was foolish.

She returned back to the hustle and bustle of the regular theater, which was still in utter chaos. Sounds of her hand against flesh rang through her ears, and it was causing her insanity. She walked into the ballet dormitories, walking quietly to her bed in the back. The absence of Buquet was evident, and the entire room seemed to be in a state of silence. Girls all around were trying to busy themselves; brushing and braiding, fidgeting with their own fingers, rearranging practice dresses, or just simply staring in oblivion. She had never seen it quite like this.

One of the girls looked at her. "Meg," she started, looking concerned, "why do you still have your costume on?"

Meg looked down almost dumbly, and sure enough, she still had on the green and white costume with flowing skirts and tight bodice. The costume mistresses would murder her. "I must have forgotten. . . in the ruckus and all. . ." she lied.

"Oh. Well, I'm sure you can give it back tomorrow. Do you think we'll rehearse?"

Meg shrugged a bit. She felt like she was in a trance of sorts.

Joseph Buquet was dead.

Meg Giry had slapped the Phantom of the Opera.

The world was out of sorts.

**A/N: My school is doing Phantom of the Opera next year for fall musical. Oh my goodness. . . Review please?**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers, and every single person who reads this, because you are fantastic!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera.**

Meg was surprised that her mother let her attend the Masquerade Ball on New Year's Eve. Then again, she did put up an argument. . . Christine was attending with the Vicomte, and two of the other dancers were going with the managers. Meg thought that she should be allowed as well. She thought perhaps her mother was just tired of hearing her argue. But, that wasn't the important part. The important part was that she was going.

She entered, with her mother, walking down the immense staircase that had been cleaned and polished earlier that day. Already there were what seemed to be more the a hundred people, lively in a dance. She stayed on the staircase, as to not get in anyone's way. She saw Christine enter with the Vicomte, in an elegant pink dress. She did stick out though. . . with everyone else in gold, black, and white hues and then Christine in pastel pink. Meg almost made her way down to say hello to the brunette, but she soon began dancing with her partner, and she didn't want to interrupt.

She stayed with her mother; going to dance when asked her. She didn't give them any information about herself. She had learned from a young age that if people don't ask about you, you shouldn't tell them. Just let them think what they will. And she did just that. Let them think that she was a wealthy girl, that she was spoiled and didn't live in a dormitory with twenty other girls. No one actually recognized her from the stage anyway.

She did grow tired of dancing though, and joined her mother back on the steps. It seemed as if the party wouldn't end, and she knew from previous years of hiding to watch, it would go well into early morning.

And then, as if he were right on cue, none other than The Phantom of the Opera himself entered the party. It was very dramatic, even for him, with all the lights dimmed. He began to process down the stairs, and briefly looked in the direction of Meg and her mother. Meg looked down, trying to avoid his glare.

Erik was somewhat surprised that his entrance had caused such a stir and surprise. In all honesty, they should have been expecting something. These new managers truly were idiotic. He presented the score that he had been finishing in the past years, and then preceded to give his commands.

Surely, they knew that Carlotta needed to be fired, or taught how to act. And sing, for that matter. And it was no surprise that Piangi needed to loose weight. The man was, in all honesty, shortening his own life. The managers clearly had no clue what they were doing. Erik hadn't experienced one person as bad as each of them in a long while. And then. . . Christine. He couldn't help keeping his eyes on her. She looked frightened as he requested that she come back to him.

"Her teacher. . . her teacher. . ."

Meg watched the two as they advanced to each other.

"Erik, Erik, Erik. . ." a voice said beside her. She looked over, seeing her mother quietly shaking her head. She got a bit confused, and turned to her mother, whispering in her smallest voice possible.

"Maman. . . who is Erik?" Her mother turned to face her and quickly shook her head, then look back at the two. Meg did as well, as the Phantom pulled Christine's new engagement ring from the chain around her neck. He then disappeared down a never before seen trapdoor, with the Vicomte close in toll.

"Meg. . ." her mother whipped the girl around. "Go, comfort Christine. I need to do something." She sounded strangely cryptic. Then Meg realized. Her mother knew something that no one else did about the Phantom. . . She tried to look back for the woman, but she was already gone.

So, picking up her voluminous skirts, she made her way down to her friend. "Christine. . ." she said, embracing the girl into a hug. "Come on. . . lets go to the dormitories." Meg tried to lead her away from the party, where everyone was getting back to dancing, trying to shake off the feeling of strangeness, but the brunette stopped her.

"Meg, Raoul doesn't realize what this man can do. . . he might as well have just jumped to his death!" She broke into somewhat tears, which made Meg just pull her away faster. Once they were in a hallway, well away from the music and dancing, she put her hands on Christine's shoulders, trying to reassure her.

"He won't do anything to the Vicomte, Christine. And if he does. . . the entire police force will be after him." She tried to sound sure, but the Phantom had come very close to killing her, and what would stop him from simply killing this man. But, she had to be strong for Christine. "Come with me, Christine. I'm sure as soon as he returns we will hear."

The girl finally nodded her head and let Meg take her to the dormitory, where she sat her down on the bed. Meg carefully began to take Christine's hair down, and tied it back into a braid, with a cream-colored ribbon. She was still in hysterics, but slowly regaining her composer. Meg was able to convince her to go put on a nightgown, and while she was gone, began to take her own gown and shoes off. She pulled her own hair down, letting it fall freely on her shoulders. Christine came out, finished crying, but her eyes still slightly puffy.

They were silent for a few moments, before Christine spoke up.

"Meg. . ." she started, sounding afraid, "I can't. . . I can't perform that opera. . . he'll come for me. . ."

Meg thought this over. It was true, but did they have a choice? He bluntly presented it, and if they didn't. . . who knows what he would do?

"Christine. . . do we have a choice?"

They were both silent, until they heard the door open from the other side of the room. Both turned around, to see Madame Giry enter, and motion behind her, to the Vicomte, who was waiting at the doorway. Christine rushed in putting on her dressing gown before running to him, and they embraced. Meg, on the other hand, took her time walking to her mother.

"Maman, you know something about him, don't you?" She knew she was right. Her mother was hiding something from her, and that didn't go over very well with her.

"No Meg. Stop talking nonsense." Her mother looked back to Christine. "Both of you need rest. I expect that roles will be given out tomorrow. Monsieur, if you do not mind." The Vicomte shook his head, and Christine returned back to the room. Madame Giry bid them goodnight, and walked out.

Erik watched the rehearsals from the top of the theater of his opera. Christine was magnificent, as anyone could expect her to be. Piangi was. . . well. . . Piangi. Something needed to be done about the man. He didn't understand why Carlotta was even cast, he had made it quite clear that he was not fond of her. . .

He had a piece of paper and pencil with him, and he meant to be taking notes to then return to the cast at a later time, but, being an artist, his hands did tend to take detours. Instead of notes, he found himself sketching, what he had first assumed to be Christine. He didn't look at his work until his hand was quite finished, and came to realize it was not, in fact, Christine.

The sketch was of a girl, in an arabesque ballet position, but instead of being the normal ballet skirt, she was in trousers. The lines around her body were softer than Christine's, and rather than Christine's thick and curly hair, this girl's had nothing but a gentle wave.

It was making him rather angry. He was supposed to be focusing on Christine, but instead, his mind was clearly on someone else. He looked up from his page to the stage, looking for a girl in trousers that might have an arabesque written somewhere.

Meg was happy with the role she had been given. She had small singing parts, and was able to dance as well. It was hard getting used to the trousers, but she thought she would be able to function in them. Monsieur Reyer stopped them and turned his attention to Carlotta. He kindly reminded her that she was an ensemble part, and that her voice was overpowering Christine's. Meg had to hold back giggles at this, happy that the diva was finally getting off her high horse.

"From the top of page thirty-six, then please."

Everyone got into his or her positions, Meg walking across the stage. The music started, and Christine's voice rang out. Meg waited for her cue, before entering the stage, singing a few of her lines, and doing a bit of dance.

It ended with an arabesque.

That night, when all the girls returned to their dormitories, Meg found a folded piece of paper on her bed. She sat down, taking the paper, and unfolded it. Inside, was a magnificent drawing of her own self, wearing trousers, and in arabesque.

It was signed E.D.

**A/N: I'm sorry this took so long. . . but I seriously had no inspiration. So tonight, I sat down and had 175 words written. I turned 'Fairy Dance' from Peter Pan on repeat, and this came out. . . leave reviews?**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I'm sorry for my sucky last chapter. This one will be better, I promise. Also, go check out my Romeo and Juliet in 100 words thing. Please? (:**

Meg was confused with the drawing. No one was watching rehearsal that day, and she certainly didn't know anyone by the initials E.D. Had there been someone who could have possibly snuck in on the rehearsal? But why would they sketch her? Of the entire opera, why her? And how would they have known which bed she slept on? Nothing on the spread gave her identity away, she kept it perfectly clean, but nothing told that this bed belonged to Meg Giry. . . and besides, even if this person did somehow know that this was her bed, how were they to know that she was the person in the trouser role? It was all very strange. . .

"Meg, what is that?" She heard a voice behind her, and turned around, to see one of the other ballerinas behind her, peering at the sketch. "Have you got yourself a secret admirer?"

"What?" Another girl walked over. "Has Little Giry finally found romance?"

Meg shook her head to both of the girls. "No. I don't know who drew this. . . or why they drew me. . . or how it got here."

One of the girls, named Sylvie shrugged and left, but the other, named Adele, stayed by. "Your mother will be so pleased to hear that someone has taken interest in you. I heard her say once that she was afraid that no one would be interested, since your so tiny." Meg didn't much like Adele.

"Tell my mother anything, and I'll tell her where you've been going after every performance." The other girl seemed shocked.

"And where is it that I've been going?"

"That young man, who you met after Hannibal, his bed, perhaps?"

Adele's eyes widened and her voice lowered. "How did you know that?"

"You come in late every night, when you think everyone is asleep. You look tired during all rehearsals, meaning that you're clearly not sleeping during those nights. You showed up with him to the masquerade ball, and it's no secret that you've had to go up a size in practice dresses."

"If you say anything, I swear to all-mighty God – "

"Well. You certainly know how to keep my lips sealed." Meg gave her a pointed stare, as the door opened and her mother entered.

"All of you need to go to bed, we have early rehearsals tomorrow. Good night." She was about to exit the room, before Adele called out, "Madame, Meg has an admirer." Meg tossed her an angry glare, and the room went silent.

"Excuse me?"

"Look, someone drew her today during rehearsal." She held up the drawing, and Madame Giry started walking towards them. She took the paper in her own hands, her eyes looking over it, almost in a confused state.

"Meg, come with me." Meg stood, obeying her mother, but gave Adele one last glare before leaving. The two Girys went to the older's office. She motioned for Meg to sit down, laying the drawing on her desk.

"Meg. . ."

"Maman, before you say anything, you should know. . . I have no idea who that's from. . . and. . . Adele's pregnant."

"Oh, Marguerite. I know very well of Adele's situation. I was going to talk to her about it tomorrow after rehearsal. And I know that you don't know who this is from." She paused, looking down. "But I do."

"Maman. . . what do mean? Who is E.D.?"

The older woman didn't speak for a long time, before responding, "Erik. . . Erik Destler."

Meg thought for a moment, "Erik. . . when the Phantom entered the masquerade. . . you were muttering that name. . . Maman, are. . . are you saying that. . . that the Phantom drew this?"

Her mother only nodded.

"I. . . I thought he loved Christine. . ." Meg sputtered. The Phantom, whom she had slapped weeks before, was drawing her? Then, a thought struck her. "Wait. . . Maman, how do you know his name?"

"I've already told the story once tonight, Meg. . . and besides. . . it's not one I ever wanted to share with you. . ."

"But Maman, you owe it to me. . . I'm your daughter. ."

"No Meg."

"Please?" She gave her mother a look of pleading.

Madame Giry was silent for a long time before taking a deep breath and telling her daughter just how she had come to know the Phantom.

"It was years ago, Meg. I was very young, still in training to be in the corps de ballet. The ballet mistress of the time. . . she decided that we had deserved a small break. She took us to a carnival that was in town at the time. There were gypsies. . . and magicians. We walked through, amazed at what we saw. And then, at the very end, something blocked off by curtains. We entered, and there was a large circular cage. And inside, a boy, with a rucksack over his head. They. . . they called him the Devil's child. The master entered and beat him, and he fell. He ripped the boy's covering off, exposing his face. A whole side. . . it seemed almost as if were burnt off. The rest of the girls. . . everyone else. . . they laughed at him. I couldn't bear it though. . . Everyone left shortly after, but I lingered for a moment. . . watching him. . . watching him long enough to see him kill his master. . . And I knew I had to do something. . . so I took him. . . and we ran. . ." Her mother was shaking now.

"And you hid him. Here?" Madame Giry nodded to her small daughter.

"But Maman. . . why is he drawing me? He loves Christine. . . or at least I thought so. . . why now me?"

"I know not Meg. . . I know not."

* * *

><p>It was the night before opening night, and Christine was a wreck of nerves. Meg tried calming her, insisting that she slept, but the girl would not. The Vicomte had taken to sleeping outside the dormitories, and extra police protection had been called in for the next night. Meg hadn't shown Christine the drawing.<p>

Erik looked out a window frame from one of his hiding places. He was surprised to see none other than Christine, his Christine, his star, walking towards one of the carriages. The window was open, and he heard her ask to be taken to the cemetery. He made his move.

"Mademoiselle. . . mademoiselle. . . Marguerite." Meg awoke hazily, foggy light from early morning pouring in her window. Towering above her bed was the Vicomte, Christine's fiancé. Her thoughts took a moment to process before she finally was able to speak.

"Monsieur. . . wha-what are you doing here? I thought my mother forbade you from entering the dormitories. . ." She sat up in her bed, and suddenly aware that she was, in fact, wearing nothing but a night gown, quickly pulled the covers to her neck.

"Christine is missing." Meg looked to her bed, and she was certainly not there.

"Did you check the chapel? She goes there quite often."

"Yes, and she is not there." Meg looked out her own window, and saw a carriage pulling away, with unmistakable curly brown hair in the seat. She pointed this out to the Vicomte, who immediately left in pursuit of her.

Erik was silent taking Christine to her destination. He would speak with her later. He stopped at the gates, waiting for her to get out. When she did, he turned around, only to leave the horses and carriage in a valley, and walk along the outskirts of the cemetery, arriving at Gustave Daae's grave. Now, he would wait for Christine.

Meg was partially worried, and didn't go back to sleep that morning. Instead, she sat up in her bed, looking around the room. All the other girls were asleep, no doubt resting for the important night to come. Christine couldn't be in trouble, could she? The Phantom – Erik – hadn't done anything since the night of the ball. . .

Finally, the girl had arrived. Erik was convincing her, he was her angel of music. She believed him, she came closer, closer, and soon she would be his.

"Christine, whatever you believe, this man, this thing, is not your father."

Damn Vicomte. He drew his sword, and Erik, very fed up with this man, drew his as well, jumping down from the roof where he was hidden. Christine let out a gasp, and he could tell that all his work had gone down the drain.

He and the Vicomte fought, and it would have appeared that he was winning, he had even slashed the Vicomte's arm, until the man knocked him to the ground, kicking snow into his face, and holding his sword up, as if ready to kill Erik. Christine finally called out, stopping him, and the Vicomte listened to her, putting his sword back into it's sheath, and taking Christine back to his white horse, and riding away with her.

But Erik was not finished yet. No. Tonight was the opening night of his opera. And he would win Christine.

* * *

><p>"Meg. . . I'm frightened. . ." Christine had returned and told Meg all that had happened in the graveyard, and was now confiding in her later that afternoon.<p>

"Christine, everything will be fine. You have heard Monsieur Changy's plans, if he attempts anything, half the police of Paris are there to stop him."

The brunette nodded. "I. . . I need to go to the chapel." Meg nodded, and gave her a hug for encouragement, before letting her go. But she had somewhere else to be.

The sketch in hand, Meg made her way down to the cellars. She needed to warn him. . . and she had a few questions.

The gate was down, but she could see him nonetheless. "Monsieur. . . monsieur. . . " She called out. He didn't come. "Erik. . .?" This sparked his attention, and he turned to her.

Erik hadn't heard his own name called in a long time, and was surprised to hear someone call it out. He looked to where the sound came from, and saw no one else but Marguerite Giry, waiting behind the gate, as she had so many months ago. It seemed like an eternity had passed. "What is it, Little Giry?"

"I wanted to warn you. . . don't try anything tonight. There are armed guards. . . and they will shoot. . ."

"I am fully aware. You may leave now." He didn't know why he was being so calm with her.

"I also. . . had a question. . . this picture. . .why. . . ?"

She had known that he drew the picture. . . and she knew his true name. . . someone had informed the girl.

"How do you know it was me?" He asked her.

Meg took a deep breath. "My mother told me. . . the initials. E.D. Erik Destler."

Erik nodded. Of course Antionette had known. "I don't know why I drew it. . . but I would prefer if you did not spread rumors that I did. Just leave it be."

But Meg couldn't leave it be, because for some unknown reason, she was experiencing a pull towards this man. Towards the man behind the mask, that her mother had rescued.

"Please monsieur. . . don't do anything. You will be hurt. . . "

**A/N: Uh. . . how is it that it took me a week to write a chapter that I pretty much hate, and only a day to write one that I'm thoroughly happy with? Leave reviews please. . . **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hey guys. So. . . I'm really hoping that I can tie this off with this chapter, but we'll see. Essentially, I'm leaving for summer camp for pretty much the entire month of June, and I want this done before then.**

Erik couldn't comprehend what the girl was trying to tell him. She almost seemed to be warning him about something, but he couldn't understand what.

"Monsieur, please. . . listen to me. Don't do something irrational. . . please."

Irrational. . . what did this girl know? Nothing. Nothing at all. She did not understand him, and she never would. She couldn't understand what he felt, and thoughts went through his mind. She couldn't possibly understand his love for Christine.

She was nothing but a ballet rat, and that's all she would ever be.

Meg tried. She tried to talk sense in him. Yes, he was partially a madman, but he didn't deserve what was coming for him. She tried, but he didn't listen. No one would listen to a ballet rat.

She left the lair, back up to the daylight and craziness of opera life, after giving him one last pleading glance. She was relatively quiet the rest of the day, only speaking when someone asked her a direct question. She silently changed into her first costume when it came time, and waited backstage for it to be her time to go on for the prologue.

Everything seemed to be in a daze, she entered and waited. Waited for Carlotta to finish the one vocal piece she received. Waited, for her turn to put on a mask.

When she did enter, and did her small dance, no one would be able to tell how lost she was inside. Opera goers fell under the spell of a fake smile and a kick, never would they actually understand one little chorus girl's feelings. Never would they care.

She finished quickly, and when she got backstage, raced to put on her next costume. The trouser costume. The singing costume. She listened, to the operatic notes coming out of the star's mouths. Christine would come on soon, and sure enough she did, singing her simple introduction. Piangi would re-enter soon. . . it was his time, but the voice ringing through the theater was not Piangi's.

This voice was cold and velvet, with deep, rich tones, something the other man could never produce. Meg listened carefully now, slowly walking next to her mother. Christine and this mystery man were starting the duet of the song, and Meg was offered a clear glance.

If his voice had not told something was different, his body certainly did. Piangi was plump, and had a rounded face, with multiple chins. This man was well built, slender, and sure of himself. Meg changed her focus to Christine. She looked frightened, yet, consumed by this stranger.

And then it hit her. It was the Phantom. . . he had been foolish. . . and he would be hurt. Meg couldn't tell if Christine could actually tell what was going on, her acting was in the way. She seemed to be willingly giving into the seduction. Meg's eyes flicked up to Box 5, where the Vicomte was sitting. He looked lost, while Christine was in the middle of this. Meg could see, even from her standing point yards away from him, tears were forming in his eyes.

Christine's eyes were closed, and as Meg watched her, they slowly opened, becoming wider, more frightened. She turned to face the Phantom, a sad look now on her face. He was still serenading her, and she reached her hand up to his face. Her eyes seemed more alert too. . . and then, with one swipe a movement, she ripped his black mask, and apparently his wig, straight off.

Erik was hurt. He trusted Christine, trusted her not to betray him. He had trusted her. . . and she had ruined him. She had ripped his mask off, exposing him to the world. For seconds, he was speechless, motionless. And then, his senses kicked in. He could see the officers running through the audience, he needed to get out. He needed an escape.

And he had one.

Cutting a long robe, attached to the grand chandelier that hung over the audience caused enough of a mayhem. Soon, everyone would leave the theater, soon, his home, his hiding place, would be destroyed. He kicked a lever, and he and Christine plummeted to his lair.

"I'll come with you!"

"No, Meg."

Meg knew the way to the Phantom's lair. And surely, this was where he was taking Christine. Meg wanted to help her friend, she truly did. And the Vicomte wanted the same thing. It only made sense for them to go down, but her mother wouldn't let her. For goodness sake, she was 17; her mother wouldn't be able to continue to tell her no like this.

She made her decision then, she would get down there somehow. Either by herself or with another, she didn't care. She raced through the hundreds of people trying to get out. She needed to get in. . . just to the dressing room.

"Mademoiselle, where do you think you're going? We're evacuating." A police officer had stopped her. She recognized him and the others from those who the performers had been introduced to the previous week. They must need to know how to get there – and if they were running away, well, Meg had some strong words to say to them then.

"I know how to get down to the Phantom's lair. Let me take you. . ." She almost didn't believe herself. She was leading the officers to him. . . maybe she would be able to distract them, and let him escape. . . maybe. . .

"What's your name?"

"Marguerite. . ." She couldn't say Giry, for they must know her mother, and would not let her go. "Marguerite Destler. I'm in training for the ballet chorus." They seemed to believe her well enough, and let her lead them down, through the mirror. . . into his space.

Erik was furious now. The Vicomte, the little hero he was, had come to save his Christine. His. His future bride, not the damned Vicomte's. But, he gave Christine the choice. The choice of him or freedom. She would win neither way. She would choose him, Erik. Or see her lover die. Surely, she would choose him. But what she did do was unexpected. . . he didn't see it coming. She shocked him, for the second time that night.

She kissed him. Kissed him passionately. . . without fear.

He had no choice but to let her go. . . why he did he never truly did understand, but he let her go. . . And he escaped.

Meg hurried through the corridors that she had recently come to know well. She was quickly greeted with the water, and began wadding. She needed to find her friend. And possibly confront the Phantom, but most importantly find her friend. He couldn't, and wouldn't, kill her, would he? No. He loved her, right? So he couldn't possibly ever want to kill her. . .

"Meg?" She heard the familiar voice and looked up to were it was coming from. There she was – Christine, with her curly brown hair and wide eyes, wearing a very odd looking white dress. She was in a gondola, with the Vicomte rowing.

"Chritine. . . Monsieur. . ." Was all Meg was able to mutter out.

"Meg. . . what are you doing?"

"I. . . I. . . I was coming for you. . . and. . . and I think. . ." Meg's mind was going a mile a minute, and not stopping for her to comprehend what was happening. "You're leaving him behind, right?" She blurted out.

"What?" Now Christine looked confused.

"You're going with the Vicomte, and you're going to be married, and have children, and try to erase this episode from your memory, right?" Meg wasn't exactly sure where she was going with this conversation.

"I. . .yes, I assume so." Christine eyebrows were furrowed together. "Why?"

"Christine. . . you're following your heart to be with the Vicomte. And. . . and as crazy as I sound right now. . . I think going in there is following mine. . . I. . . just let me do this. Please." Meg didn't understand herself, only that she wanted to see him. . . to see the Phantom. . . to see Erik.

Christine looked dumbfounded, and Meg took it upon herself to leave, whispering silently to herself, "I wish you the best of happiness."

She continued to wade in the water, something, she had come to find, that was much easier in trousers rather than a ballet dress. When she finally did reach the island, she was disappointed to find no one there. She climbed the steps anyway, and could hear the police behind her, following suit. She looked around fervently, wondering where he could have escaped. And she saw it.

The white mask. The mask that seemed to stand for his entire being. She picked it up, examining it carefully. Looking around the rest of his home, Meg noticed the mirrors all broken, shards of glass everywhere. One mirror, in particular had a dark red curtain draped over it still. There were a million shards on its base.

Meg was curious, and she stepped closer to it. Making sure no one was behind her, she stuck her hand on the curtain, only half surprised to see that it went straight through. The mirror was a tunnel.

She turned back to the police that were starting to flood the area. "This is all I found. . ." she lied, "He left. There's no chance of finding him." She paused, knowing they wouldn't leave without good reason. "The fire. . . it will shortly make it's way down here. . . let's go." They all gave small nods and grunts and turned around. Meg waited for the last one to turn the corner before turning back to the mirror. She pulled the curtain back hesitantly, and stepped in.

Erik heard footsteps approaching closer and closer to him. He was slumped on a wall, not sure what to do with himself, where to go, or what to do. The figure coming closer to him was small and almost pixie-like. She came close to him, standing over, until she kneeled.

Upon closer examination, he could see that it was Antionette's daughter, Marguerite. Of course she had come. She always came. She had something in her hand, and silently gave it to him. When he looked down at his own hand, he saw his mask, retrieved from his home.

He looked at her, and saw her eyes full of questions that would not voice. She was silent, and he said nothing to make her speak. Then she did the unexpected. She slowly brought her hand to the right side of his face, the face that everyone would simply scream at. Her hand gently brushed against it, and her blue-green eyes met his once again. She leaned in, and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips.

Meg didn't know what made her do it. It seemed right to her, for some reason. Right, that they were here. Both were lost, and perhaps they needed each other to find something. To find somewhere.

"You're not alone." she whispered.

**A/N: No, it's not exactly over yet. I want an epilogue. In fact, I'll give you guys a hint. This is a name and a word that will be in the epilogue. But, maybe the word won't be in English (: The name is Giselle, and the word is sun. Care to guess how they'll make an appearance? Leave reviews please (:**

**Also, totally random thought: if you haven't listened to Fairy Dance from Peter Pan, pleaseeee go do so! I don't know why. . . but somehow the music is just Meg-ish to me. . . **


	11. Epilogue

**A/N: So. . . I didn't get an email about my last chapter update. . . did you? If you didn't, there's a chapter before this.**

Erik was happy. He didn't think he would actually feel this way, happy. But Meg had helped him. The small, forgotten ballerina. The girl who always came to him. The girl that came back. She helped him through the years, and slowly, he healed.

Meg was asleep now, peaceful next to him. Her sunny hair spilled over her pillow, and her small body was curled in an almost fetal position. Her feet, trained from years of dancing still rested in perfect pointe. Her face was gentle and calm.

Erik had come to see that she was almost exactly like her mother. Antionette, who had rescued him so many years ago, and now her daughter, who showed the same compassion and strength. And quite possibly the greatest gift she had given him. She had wanted them so badly, and he argued. He argued, and argued against it. He didn't want someone else to suffer like he did. . . but she persisted, and persisted. She kept on begging him, and he finally gave in.

And down the hall, in a bedroom the two shared, lay their twin daughters. Soleil Elisabeth and Giselle Odette, both eight years of age. Soleil seemed to be the copy of her mother, sunny blonde hair and a dancer. Yet, she had his eyes. She barely ever spoke, only when someone addressed her. She was a dancer, like her mother. She felt the music, and expressed it. Giselle, on the other hand, had dark hair and darker eyes. Neither parent knew exactly where she got her looks from, but they accepted it. She was talkative, always starting conversations. Meg had put her in dance when she was young, but Giselle quickly lost interest. She began to sing then, but Erik could tell that his wife was nervous for this. Yes, he taught her, but Meg constantly reminded him that she was not Christine, and he worked to not treat her as he did she.

His family was a good one.

He was happy.

**Fin.**

**If you want pictures, **

**Giselle looks like this .com/file_thumbview_approve/12401539/2/istockphoto_**

**Soleil looks like this**

**.com/file_thumbview_approve/14461126/2/istockphoto_**

**Hints from last chapter **

**Sun = Soleil in French = first girl's name**

**Giselle = second girl's name**

**Reviews?**


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